


When You Speak (I hear silence)

by Cactaceae28



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Babel Trek Open Project (Star Trek), First Meetings, Friendship, Gen, Implied Prejudice, Language Barrier, mild AU, the universal translator is flawed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:34:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22417798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cactaceae28/pseuds/Cactaceae28
Summary: Terok Nor is no more, and strange new aliens are coming to the newly named Deep Space Nine. Nog doesn't expect life to change; but then he finds a friend, who gives him the greatest gift he will ever receive.
Relationships: Nog & Jake Sisko
Comments: 24
Kudos: 81
Collections: The Babel Trek Open Project





	When You Speak (I hear silence)

The first time Nog meets the annoying hewmon boy, it goes about as well as any interaction with anyone but his father and a few of the kinder dabo girls go. To be fair, it isn’t exactly the same – the boy is smiling, for one. He’s approached Nog from behind, which is something that he despises, but he’s not being even remotely threatening. That already sets him apart from pretty much every former inhabitant of Terok Nor.

That isn’t to say he isn’t a little bit intimidated. This is the new commander’s son, and the commander _was_ responsible for those heart-stopping hours Nog spent in the brig the other day. He still hasn’t quite gotten over the helplessness he felt when the man started talking over his head to his uncle and the constable dragged him away before he could even try to guess what was going on between the three of them.

Still, this isn’t the commander, so Nog isn’t really afraid. He stops, deciding to face this head on. The boy takes a couple of steps further away before he realizes it, and when he does he turns with a bigger smile. The rest of it goes as it always goes: the boy keeps moving his mouth while Nog stares blankly, seeing the strange shapes that, distorted as they are by the freakishly flat teeth and the alien words, mean nothing to him.

It takes a minute for the boy to stop and look at him expectantly. Nog plants his feet more firmly on the ground and refuses to let anything show on his face. The boy starts again, this time gesturing wildly with his arms, clearly communicating his frustration at least, thought that is about as much as Nog can decipher. Still, Nog won’t back down, not this time.

The boy scowls and leaves as abruptly as he came. And that, as far as experience has taught Nog, is that. The boy is not going to interact with him again. The downside of a society with near-perfect translation devices, as his years on Ferenginar and Terok Nor have repeatedly shown him, is that those who can’t make themselves understood are left behind.

That has been the rule all his life. He’s not expecting the Federation to be any different. Except that… the boy does come back.

The second time, he’s sweeping the floor at the bar when he sees the hewmon approach from the corner of his eye. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting but the boy —Jake, his father said the boy’s name is Jake— is smiling again. He starts talking again, as if he’s expecting Nog to understand him any more now than he did yesterday. He suddenly points at Nog, almost making him flinch, and then goes back to talking. Now that he’s gotten over his surprise, he can see that Jake is moving his hands weirdly. Nog has never seen anything like it and doesn’t know what to do about any of it. After a few minutes, Jake suddenly hits himself over the head and runs out. Maybe his uncle is right. Hewmons are crazy.

The third time is barely an hour later. Jake bounds into the bar while his father and uncle are distracted, with something in his hands —Nog’s heart falls to his feet when he sees a PADD and pen in his hands. This time, he doesn’t even try to pretend. He goes straight to the boy, pushes the PADD back and shakes his head emphatically. When the hewmon pushes back, he points to the pen, back to himself and shakes his head. He sees the moment Jake understands his meaning, because his eyes widen with horror.

Nog has never questioned his inability to read or write in the past. It's just another facet of life, and it isn’t really anybody’s fault; his father is always too busy working and his uncle has too many problems that are larger than one boy. Yet somehow in this moment it makes him feel ashamed in a way that his usual troubles with communication have never quite managed.

Something in Jake’s eyes hardens. He mutters to himself, scratches his head, and then he turns the PADD on, going to the chronometer function. He points at the bar and then at the clock. Does he want to know when Nog will leave? That doesn’t seem to be it. The boy is fiddling with the clock again, and showing him a different time. Nog shrugs, as much out of bewilderment as any real acceptance, but the hewmon seems to be mollified at last. He waves and leaves again.

The fourth time is the last time Nog keeps count. He doesn’t really know what to expect, and he’s still half-prepared for the boy to get tired and leave him alone. But in the morning Jake is there again, and this time he tugs insistently at his sleeve. He’s juggling even more PADDs in his other arm, and Nog feels apprehensive in a way that isn’t anything like his usual qualms around strangers. He almost balks and goes back to his quarters, but Jake is so new and so alien, and he has never been anything but friendly. Nog wants to know more about him.

Jake leads him to one of the less used cargo bays, and sits cross-legged in a corner surrounded by heavy boxes that will keep them out of sight of the door. It takes Nog a moment to stomp down the spike of uneasiness, but he has come too far to turn away now. He reluctantly sits down, and Jake shifts to face him. Nog waits.

Jake points at him, and slowly makes three signs with his right hand. First he shows his knuckles with the thumb in between. Then he makes a circle. Then he points to his left. Nog looks dubiously in that direction but, as expected, there’s nothing but a wall. Jake clicks his fingers in front of Nog, looking like he’s laughing. He repeats the three signs, and then touches Nog in the chest.

Something clicks in Nog’s head, and his breath hitches. He lifts his hand, and copies Jake clumsily. He does this a few times, getting a feel for the motions. When he feels like he has the hang of it, he hesitates a moment— but if this is what he thinks it may be, then he needs confirmation. He points at Jake.

Jake bounces in his seat, and starts a different set of signs; four this time. First he moves his hand in an arc, then he shows his palm with the fingers curled. He lifts two fingers and then retracts them, curling all of them around the thumb. When that is done, he rests his hands for one moment on his lap, and then waves in an unmistakable _‘hello’_.

Nog waves back. He takes a deep breath, trying to find a way to ask the question and ends up repeating the motions for (his name? could it really be his name?) and motions at the PADDs and Jake with his hand.

Jake covers his ears with his hands, covers his mouth and then points at one of the PADDs, the one with the drawings of hands with a squiggly marking under each. He takes a second one and fiddles with it before handing it to Nog. On the tiny screen, there’s a video of what looks like a festival in one of the Federation worlds, but what commands Nog’s attention is a lanky blonde hewmon that has been superimposed in a corner of the screen. She’s clearly moving in time with the rhythms and flows of the larger image that Nog can only glimpse at. She frowns and smiles and moves her shoulders and all the while her hands and arms flow in front of her with what is very clearly deliberate intent.

Nog lets the video play for a long time, trying to take in as much as he can. Disappointingly, though not surprisingly, he can’t really understand this language anymore than he can lip-read anything other than Ferengi… but no. The woman points at her eyes while the larger image is panning to the audience and Nog thinks _‘see’_. The woman points at the camera and that one is obvious: _‘you’_. She rests her thumb in her forehead and moves her other fingers… _‘think’_? _‘wonder’_? _‘dream’_? It doesn’t matter.

What matters is this: This is a language. It’s a language made for Nog, for people like Nog, for people for whom the universal Translator is meaningless and for whom there are precious few alternatives in a quadrant that has virtually eliminated most other communication barriers. The image on the PADD in his hands grows blurry and his eyes sting, and then Jake is shuffling over and putting a hand over his. Nog looks up, and Jake is still smiling. He lifts his index fingers and links them together, over and over and then waves at the both of them.

Nog doesn’t need to know the exact meaning of this sign to understand: he nods.

For weeks and weeks, they meet in nooks and crannies all over the station, in empty cargo bays and out-of-the-way corridors, always with a PADD between them. They watch and learn and start adding their own gestures for things and feelings. Little by little Nog realizes that he can be so much more than he ever was on Terok Nor; he doesn't need to stay out of sight, he doesn't have to keep his thoughts to himself. It's like there was an invisible wall around him that has now fallen, and even though he's still dismissed sometimes, even though some people are still rude to him, it doesn't sting like it used to do when he can mock them with Jake behind their backs and pretend they aren’t if the constable is looking.

Years later, when he looks back at this time, Nog won’t be sure what sticks out the most in his mind. Maybe the time he and Jake ran straight into a Starfleet lieutenant and Nog was able to give an actual apology and be understood, or the first time he was able to attend Mrs. O’Brien's school and roughly follow what was happening. No, it has to be the face his father made the first time Nog went to him and started speaking, and the evenings the two of them spent learning this new language together afterwards.

Nog had always been the worst type of Ferengi. Nog’s world had always been silent. But with Jake by his side, when they sit with their legs hanging over the Promenade and when their hands fly in increasingly complex patterns almost faster than thought, when he looks at the stars and dares to dream of a future beyond the walls of the station, Nog’s world starts to grow and grow and he’s never lonely again.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a bit nervous about this one, since I feel like it falls a bit outside the prompt for the collection. Still, the [Babel project](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/BabelTrek)sounded so interesting, and I really wanted to write something about Jake and Nog, so this is what came out of it.
> 
> Thank you to all of the organizers for creating the collection and, as always, thanks for reading!


End file.
